Strange that in the silent city, Eve should play the horsing mare,
Eve should whinny for a stallion, snuffing up the scented air!
Strange that breeched and scarlet-coated, brave with wealth of boot and spur,
He should hunt the fox Jehovah through the world astride of her.
But his whip! the flame that lashes blood from out her flanks afoam,
Strips the flesh and leaves the spirit bridle-free to gallop home!
But the screams of pain that stab him, drunk with lust of spur and rod,
As the rowels and the whalebone send his spirit back to God!
So in madness is attainment that inspirits and endures.
—Who are you to blame their folly, ask them to assent to yours?
Be ye sure, the Eye Unlidded measures by another rod!
Be ye sure, the human balance looks distorted to a God!
To yourselves be slaves and masters; stand or fall to self alone;
Human ethics will not loosen our Astarte's crimson zone.
You will never fit your forehead with your father's fancy hats:
You know more about salvation than the Reverend Robert Rats.
Well, you have most certainly met an unpleasant set of people, exclaimed the big man. Can't we be a bit cheerful for a change? The night wears on: we must part.
I think you would like my Gipsy girl, said Denzil, without scruple or diffidence.
If she's a sane clean human being, we shall. So Arthur Gray voiced the general feeling.
Without further debate he set to.
LA GITANA
Your hair was full of roses in the dewfall as we danced,
The sorceress enchanting and the paladin entranced,
In the starlight as we wove us in a web of silk and steel
Immemorial as the marble in the halls of Boabdil,
